Why Aragorn Always Seems to be Damp
by Fruitful Action
Summary: Someone faces a great task... and it involves soap.


Why Aragorn Always Seems to be Damp

Why Aragorn Always Seems to be Damp

Evening was falling over the Fellowship as they settled along the shore of the River Anduin; another day's traveling behind them on the journey to their final destination. As the sun set below the trees and darkness set in, all were reminded of their grim and daunting task – all, that is, save Legolas, who had a task of his own. Discovering and eradicating a vileness that had been plaguing him since the Fellowship set out from Lothlorien. For the past few days, he had tried to ignore it, thinking that it would go away or that they would leave it behind, but alas: no. It had surrounded them and was in fact growing more powerful by the hour. Finally reaching the breaking point, Legolas decided to take advantage of the night's halt to find this menace and destroy it.

As he searched, the others busied themselves in various ways. The Hobbits sat idly, watching Gimli try to start a fire without a lot of luck. Boromir had skulked off to find more firewood – something he had taken upon himself to do every night. And Aragorn, as he did every night, was setting up everything else in the camp and neurotically checking to make sure there was absolutely nothing that could in any way endanger them. This included, but was not limited to, the presence of Nazgul, orcs, bees, poison oak, fire ants, and Gollum.

Having had no luck so far, Legolas decided to search the boats for the vile odor that would not retreat, thinking perhaps that the source was a Hobbit Accident. The younger two were particularly excitable, so the thought was not beyond the realm of possibilities. He was disappointed to find that the smell had actually faded on that side of camp, and so he stopped searching after going through Merry and Pippin's boat.

Too irritated to sit, he started to pace, determined to puzzle out the source of the smell. It had not left, as a faint hint of an awful gaminess seasoned with mulch and a touch of rotting carcass permeated the area in a nearly physically perceptible fog. He had ruled out the chance of Gimli's personal stench expanding to include new categories, as he still smelled horrible – like every other Dwarf.

To his great misfortune, he got a strong whiff of the offending mystery odor on his first pass around the campfire. It was coming from one of his fellows. From where he stood, there were clearly two suspects at the epicenter of The Smell. The first was Frodo, staring despondently into the middle distance (probably wondering _Why me?_ in the whiny tone that all in company had learned to ignore), ignorant towards any of Legolas' suspicious nose wrinkling. The other was Aragorn, who at that moment, raised his arm to swat away a fly that had settled on one of the fish he was preparing for dinner. All suspicions of Frodo were erased as a wave of putrid green was loosed from beneath his friend's underarm and nearly knocked Legolas unconscious.

Focusing on Aragorn and his stench forced Legolas to struggle with his gag reflex which also caused his eyes to burn. Finally, he had to physically turn away so that he was facing the wind and could clear his nasal passages. He squeezed his eyes open and shut a few times and flexed his fingers. His personal mission to eradicate The Smell had suddenly become a very delicate situation that must be handled with great care…and lots of soap.

Now aware of what he had to do for the good of all blessed with noses, Legolas prepared himself for battle. Grimacing, he gathered up his weapons of choice: scrub-brush, towel, and most important of all, two unused bars of soap. One bar for his body, the other for that greasy mop on Aragon's head. While getting that close to a nude Aragorn was frankly vomitous, the idea of living with that stench for another moment was worse. With this to strengthen his resolve, Legolas planned his assault. The irony of taking clothes _off_ before a battle was not lost on him as he removed his boots and vambraces and rolled up his sleeves and hoes. With his "weapons" safely stowed under a bush close to the river, he put his plan into action. Before moving too close to the source of The Smell, Legolas sucked in a deep breath.

"Aragorn, I need to speak with you. Now, please."

Aragorn looked up from the fish he was keeping watch over, appearing concerned about being addressed directly by the Elf. "What is it? Has something happened?"

Legolas pursed his lips and canted his eyes to the side, "Nothing has happened, per se… I've just… discovered something and need to discuss it with you." Aragorn continued to look up at him, with furrowed eyebrows and the beginnings of a frown, apparently waiting for his friend to continue. "Somewhere private might be better," he added. Aragorn raised an eyebrow and started to stand up. Legolas winced and turned around as The Smell rose with him.

He listened blindly as Aragorn assigned Boromir to watch the fish on the fire and assure Frodo that he would be back in a few minutes. When he felt that Aragorn had taken care of reassigning his usual chores, he walked towards his prepared battle ground expecting his target to follow him on his own.

As they cleared the forest and came into an area of river-side that was decently out of sight of camp, Aragorn called out to the Elf. "Legolas, what exactly did you find that has you acting this way?"

Legolas held a hand up, and Aragorn stopped. He stepped back a few paces and when Aragorn made to follow, held up the other hand, as though to ward off an evil being. Legolas took a moment to find the wind's direction, and placed himself upwind of his friend. By that point Aragorn was beginning to look alarmed and a little bit wary. "Legolas?"

"Aragorn," Legolas began, "there is something that has been bothering me for the last few days."

Aragorn frowned and peered closely at the Elf. "Legolas, are you breathing at all?"

Legolas grimaced and muttered, "I'm trying not to." Aragorn immediately scented the danger, though unsure of what his friend had in mind, he was experienced enough in combat and wilderness survival to know a trap when he saw it. He tensed, ready to bolt the moment Legolas pounced.

"Now, Aragorn, be reasonable," the Elf said in a placating I-don't-want-to-scare-off-the-skittish-bunny tone. Alerted, the Ranger made to run, however, even a Ranger as skilled and agile as Aragorn cannot hope to escape a very determined Elf on a mission. As Aragorn dove for the bushes, Legolas caught his friend around the waist and proceeded to haul him towards the water. Unfortunately, with his face pressed into Aragorn's manky back, Legolas could not avoid the rancid stench. The Smell caused bile to rush into his mouth and for a moment Legolas's grip loosened. It was enough time for the wily Ranger to squirt out his arms like a large bar of soap. Quick as a flash, the Elf caught Aragorn's ankle and swung him around like a discus thrower.

"Oh no you don't! I cannot take your odiferous-ness another moment! YOU WILL BE BATHED!" And with that, he flung Aragorn bodily into the frigid river, where he landed with an almighty splash.

Surfacing with a shriek, Aragorn gasped, then spluttered,

"W-what are you t-talking about?"

"Aragorn, there's no nice way to say this – you stink. Worse than Gimli or a dead animal or both piled together." Legolas stated as he snatched up his wash-gear and leapt on his friend. "Now take this like a man. Take your shirt off and scrub!"

"No! I'm not a child, I won't." Aragorn protested indignantly.

"Fine! If you will not wash yourself, I will do it for you. I will not stand your reek any longer!"

Taking an offensive position with his legs wrapped tightly around the Ranger's midsection, Legolas began his assault on Aragorn's hair. However, before he could put soap to filthy mane, the Elf was distracted by a slimy, sticky substance coating his friend's shoulders. With an effort, Legolas freed his hand, which he stared at in horror as it was encrusted with the same slim.

"Dear Valar, man! Is this _sap_?! Are you producing sap?"

Back at the camp, the others could not help but be party to the Elf's revolted shriek. Boromir, pointedly ignoring the sounds of watery battle, poked the fire. Pippin, with his face greased with fish juice perked up, curious. He and his equally dimwitted cousin made to investigate, but were gainsaid by a rather stoic Gimli.

"No, laddies, let 'em work it out on their own. Be too dangerous for you to get involved."

Now a little frightened, both sat back down and were promptly absorbed in their food. Frodo, nervous and jittery as ever, looked to Boromir – the closest thing to an authority figure while the two men with sense were occupied – and asked,

"Who do you think will win?"

Boromir shrugged and made a noncommittal noise in his throat, clearly unwilling to bet against the Elf's determination or the Ranger's phobia of personal hygiene.

As the sounds of bellowed oaths, wilds splashing and squeals resonated around the camp; Gimli leaned back, took a deep philosophical draw on his pipe and commented,

"Always knew that pointy-eared fruitcake would snap eventually."

Returning to the epic battle playing out in the water only yards from the cozy campfire, Legolas was indeed winning, if only just. He had made some improvement to Aragorn's hair and had saved a few tiny creatures of unknown species from the matted tangle. He could not be sure, but Legolas would later swear a small bird flew out of a tangled lock as it made contact with the water.

Now came the turning point in the Battle of the River, as it would later be affectionately dubbed by the surviving members of the Fellowship. Washing the man with his clothes on was not going to have much of an effect on The Smell, as layers of the-Valar-only-knew-what could take shelter on his unexposed skin.

"Come on, Aragorn! Be a man! Take the shirt off! I would like to preserve you some personal dignity, but I will take it if I must!" The Elf screeched, now a bit pink in the face and as wet at the man he was attempting to bathe. Now royally offended, Aragron bucked harder, nearly unseating the Elf, who still held his position on his back.

"Sit! Bad Ranger! NO!" With this, Legolas walloped his friend across the nose. Aragorn froze, shocked and appalled at being smacked like a disobedient dog.

Single minded as ever, Legolas took advantage of the momentary stillness to begin undoing the top few clasps of Aragorn's shirt. The completely pissed off Ranger swatted his hand away, at which point, Legolas reflected that 1) he should have brought rope and 2) if worst came to worst; he could just lather up the scrub-brush and jam it down Aragorn's shirt.

By this point Aragorn felt the need to interject, before the Elf began jamming that scrub-brush down other places – in this kind of tizzy, it was not at all clear what lines the usually even-keeled Elf would respect (or where said brush would be aimed).

The half-drowned man spat out a mouthful of water and said,

"Legolas! I'm not that dirty! And – ah! Watch that brush you maniac! What I mean is, can't we be reasonable?"

"Reasonable?" The Elf, who by now was beyond anything that could be called reason (or mercy) screamed. "I gave you a chance to be reasonable and you acted like a child!" In a very ominous voice, he continued, "Now I'm taking matters into my own hands."

Fearing for his life, Aragorn decided to play nice until the scrub-brush of doom was put away. Then he would make a final bid for freedom and dry land.

Pleased with the effect his threat had produced, Legolas returned to peeling the crusty layers of clothing off. As he worked, he hummed a little tune that was, to his victim at least, somewhere between demented and sadistic. The Ranger recognized it as the one he used while sharpening his arrows before killing something.

"Alright," Legolas said as he warily climbed off hid friend's back. "I've seen your feet and I will get at least four years' worth of grime off them – I'm a realist: I know I'd be here until the World's End if I wanted to clean them completely. Now, we can do this one of two ways – the way that ends with you walking out of this river or the one that ends with you floating down it. Take your pick."

The soggy combatants regarded each other for a moment, then, the proud Ranger lowered his head and muttered,

"I'll be good."

"Good boy. If you survive, remind me to give you a biscuit." With no further warning, the Elf plunged a hand into the icy water, grabbed Aragorn's ankle and hauled it to the surface. Off balanced, the Ranger fell back. Uncaring, Legolas pried off the left boot and hurled it back to shore, where it landed in a raspberry bush. Smiling wickedly, the sadistic Elf turned back to the exposed foot, then recoiled in true revulsion – it was beyond description in its vileness.

"UGH! Have you seen your feet? Look at this!" He howled, bending his friends leg in a way no human male should be capable of so that Aragorn was forced to stare his rancid foot down. "This is inexcusable! Did you think you were naturally two-toned?"

Holding his face well away, Legolas attacked the foot with brush and soap. Unable to look at it anymore, he returned to berating Aragorn who was struggling to tread water with one leg above his head.

"You were raised by the Elves! Lord Elrond's foster-son, didn't they teach you to clean yourself? This is disgusting!" After another minute of skin-removing scrubbing, he dropped to left leg and moved on to the right, which, by the time he was satisfied, and lost a good six layers of skin as well.

"There," sang a perversely pleased Legolas and he bounded out of the river. "It wasn't that bad, now was it?" Aragorn stared at him in mute astonishment as he trudged, beaten and unmanned out of the sub-artic water.

"You know something, Legolas, for an Elf Prince, you're a real bastard sometimes." The soaked and shivering mortal observed as he fished his boots out of the thorny bush.

"But what would you do without me?" The Elf rejoined sweetly, far too happy to be insulted.

"Live without getting pneumonia, possibly… and without being violated with personal hygiene products. Why didn't you save the brush and just use a rock?"

"Oh, I considered it, but I couldn't find one that wasn't a harmless pebble or a small bolder on such short notice. Next time perhaps." Smiling brightly, he flitted back to camp, drenched, but victorious.

"Next time?" Roared the Ranger. "What next time? There will be no next time! Legolas, do you hear me! Never again!"

Unperturbed, his friend called over his shoulder, "There won't be if you be a good boy and wash yourself. But if I catch a whiff of your putrescent sent again, I'll clean every inch of you or drowned you trying."

Legolas made his way back into camp long before Aragorn, as he had left him to his own struggles over dressing in wet cloth – but not before warning him that if he rolled in anything, he would tie him to the underside of his boat come tomorrow. As satisfied as a cat with a mouse, he waltzed through camp and made his way to his bag to find new clothes. Primly drying his hair with a towel, which he had not left for Aragorn, he sat down at the fire by Frodo with whom he had a bone to pick.

"You know Little One, I must ask. Though you may find my inquiry rude, I feel as though I cannot continue without knowing this one thing."

Frodo blinked large off-putting eyes at the Elf whom he now found vaguely frightening. "Um, go ahead then?"

Legolas ceased rubbing at his hair and rested the towel over his shoulders so that he could focus all of his attention on this one moment. Frodo scooted away a few discreet centimeters, unnerved by the intensity on the Elf's face.

"How is it," Legoals began solemnly. "How is it, that you have traveled in a confined space with Aragorn for so long and not died?"

"Died of what?"

"Aragorn! You've killed this poor unsuspecting Hobbit's olfactory senses! I hope you're happy you senseless brute! Filthy mortal!"

Suddenly aware of his company, Legolas shook himself out and smiled winningly at them. "No offense meant. That one's a "special" case."

Before the aghast congregation could find anything to say, a very angry and wet Aragorn squelched into the ring of firelight. There was silence as they took in his sheepish demeanor and wetter-than-usual hair. All wondered what he would do – kill the Elf with his bare hands, pretend nothing happened and change into something dry and filthy, were all contemplated. Predictably, it was Pippin who broke the hush.

"Soooo, Legolas won?" He trilled. Under the blazing gaze of the Ranger, the tiny Hobbit scuttled to hide behind his cousin.

Legolas returned to preening as Aragorn threw himself down by the fire, situating himself next to Gimli and as far away from the Elf as was possible. For a while, both man and Elf worked to dry off. Eventually, the Dwarf leaned over, snuffed at Aragorn's sleeve – as he couldn't reach his shoulder – and stated gruffly,

"You smell like a girl now."

Legolas smiled to himself as he combed out his hair.


End file.
